


God Doesn't Want Us

by Pseudonymous (Cloudgrey)



Category: Boku dake ga Inai Machi | 僕だけがいない街 | ERASED - The Town Where Only I am Missing, 僕だけがいない街 | ERASED
Genre: Dark!Satoru, Dubious Morality, Implied Murder, Lewd!Satoru, M/M, Shota, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-05-26 02:27:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6220060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloudgrey/pseuds/Pseudonymous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1988, Satoru escapes his fated coma by playing a little differently. </p><p>("It's exactly because I love you that I must destroy you."<br/>Satoru tries to make something out of his relationship with Yashiro—although, hold that thought.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Богу мы не нужны](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6655024) by [rivaihatesyou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivaihatesyou/pseuds/rivaihatesyou)



> As a manga reader, I've been sitting on this one for a while, because Hiromi is a trap and Yashiro is too obvious in the anime.  
> This is my first time writing an explicit piece.  
> Er, just wtf is this sin.

 

You are twenty-eight and eleven; things like a missing male presence in your life and filling the gaping hole inside your heart have long been festering in your mind. You look at him, look at his stilted smile, hear his warm words, feel the cold frostbitten winter on your cheeks, and you wonder if the hole your father has left behind could ever be replaced by him.

“You are the one who got me in gear, Satoru. Your heroic efforts couldn’t possibly end in tragedy.”

His big, warm hand on your head brings a smile to your face, and you have decided there is no way you will let him go. You want to have him how ever you can. You will have him.

(You hardly have any memory of your father; you wonder if he talked like him.)

Evil deeds and good deeds are our attempts to fill the hole in our hearts. Everything is a replacement for something else. For this, we do what we have to. For this, we lie to survive.

“Yashiro sensei.”

You are inside a child’s body, and after a night of deep contemplation, you decide to play into this role the best you can. You are your mother’s son, Kayo’s silver-lining, Kenya’s ideal hero and the maker of Hiromi’s smile.

_(What are you to him?)_

Yashiro calls you to his office, taps his finger on the edge of his desk. He looks at you, brown eyes kind and cold filled with all-knowing fascination that unsettles you. You cannot quite place a finger on it. When he smiles, it borders on a smirk.

“Was your reward the smile on Kayo’s face?” he asks. “I wanted that, too.”

He taps on his desk — _one, two, three_ — and you realise with a jolt it is a rhythm of your heart. Your breath catches, your hand shoots out to halt his movement. Yashiro freezes under your touch, stares at you with glazed eyes and parted lips. You hear a hitch in his breath when you curl your small hand around his finger.

“Thank you, sensei,” you say softly. “You—you made me really happy.”

You are startled to see a crack in his composure and for a moment, you are so certain that the animal that lurks behind those eyes is burning with desire. There is something else there too. But the man catches himself quickly, gives you a smouldering look that makes your heart beat double and winks at you. He removes his hand from under your touch and says, “You are free to go, Satoru.”

You return to your classroom with flushed cheeks and a sense of opportunity lost. Kenya calls you out for staring at your hand throughout the whole lunch break. Hiromi giggles and asks if you miss Kayo already.

After school, you take them to the abandoned bus to look for clues. You divulge to them your investigation, knowing it will either make or break your friendship. Either they call you insane, or they go insane with you. But Kenya smiles and tells you he believes in you. The same thing happens with Hiromi when you walk him home, only it’s not the same at all when he grabs your hand and—

You are twenty-eight, he is ten, and you wonder if this is what you look like to Yashiro: soft, warm and despairingly naive. Hiromi tells you that he can take care of himself, that he is a man too but then he leans into you, all soft and sighing, all _Satoru, please; Satoru, thank you,_ and kisses you. His mouth is cold and quivering against your steadying warmth. Not bad. When he pulls away, he looks like he is ready to bolt. You squeeze his hand reassuringly.

“It’s fine,” you tell him.

“No, it’s not,” he whispers back.

“Go home. Be safe. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

When you walk into class the next day, Hiromi meets your eyes across the room, turns bright red and looks away. You try to look appropriately baffled when Kenya gets you alone and asks, voice laced with suspicion, _What happened yesterday?_

“I think Hiromi talked me into protecting him without meaning to.”

“Don’t you do that already?”

“Yeah. But now I _want_ to,” you say.

Kenya sighs, “Hiromi can be such a girl sometimes.”

You shrug. “It’s not a bad thing, I don’t think.”

 

*

 

Yashiro makes you and Kenya stand outside the classroom holding water pails. You contemplate seeking Yashiro out during lunch break, but that would be weird because you have nothing to say to him. You go to the teacher’s office anyway though, because children are expected to do weird things sometimes. You think of Hiromi and the transparent way he acts, and resolves to emulate him.

Yashiro swivels around in his chair to face you, a pudding spoon in his mouth and a pudding cup in his hand.

“Yes, Satoru?” he says.

“My body hurts,” you tell him.

He raises his eyebrows, _Hm?_

“You made us hold the pails for too long.” You sag against his desk to prove your point. “Aren’t you a little cruel to be doing this to us kids?”

“Oh?” He sounds amuse and plays along with you. “Was my punishment too harsh?”

You nod, stumble into him and bury your face in his chest. His body is warm under your touch and you whine in satisfaction.

Yashiro freezes and pushes you from him with one hand, the other places the half-finished pudding cup carefully next to his convenience store bento. Climbing onto his lap, you peer into his lunch. The question leaves your mouth before you can stop yourself, “Why are you eating sweets before your meal?”

“Why are you being nosy?” he asks. “Let’s get you to the infirmary.”

“You should finish your meal, sensei.”

“It’s fine,” he tells you.

“I’ll feed you if you want.” You shift around and picks up the chopsticks.

Yashiro flushes and leans away from you, looking around the empty staff room. “That’s probably not appropriate, Satoru. If any teacher sees you now, I will get in trouble.”

His hand is splayed on your hip though, thumb running along the waist of your trousers. There is something here. You can use this, you think. Yashiro ends up taking his lunch with him to the infirmary as you two wait for the nurse to show up. When you scramble onto his lap now, he allows you this much. It’s as if he knows the nurse will never show up and that there is no need to hurry.

“Where does it hurt, Satoru?” he asks softly.

He skims a hand up your back, and you sigh into his ear. His hand freezes and you feel a shudder run down his spine. He shrugs himself out of his blazer and rolls up his sleeves before placing you on the bed. He rummages through the cabinet for something to relieve your pain. You feel kind of guilty for lying to him, but there is also a part of you that is sure he knows.

“Ow, ow, ow.”

“Where, here?”

He presses into a knot on your shoulder and tries to dig it out. You yelp and spins around to smack his hand away. He mutters an apology, sliding from the nurse’s chair onto the bed and you lean into him, hand skating up his thigh, lips parting to mouth around his name. He shudders, touch disappearing but returns, this time to rub cold gel on your shoulder. Your body shakes from thrill and nervousness when he pushes you onto your back. When he bunches up your shirt over your chest, you shiver as the cool air brushes against your exposed skin.

You catch a broken look on Yashiro’s face and your blood runs a little cold. His expression is predatory, and you should be scared but there is also something there that makes your inside heat up. _Sensei,_ you murmur and pull him down by his tie. He watches you enthralled and follows until your faces are inches apart. His eyes glazed over with want, and when his hand brushes against your nipple, you moan and arches into him.

“Touch me more,” you say. “It feels amazing.”

Yashiro yanks his hand back, startled, and you can practically see the gears in his head turn. He pulls himself together at a speed which impresses even you. “Those aren’t words children should be saying.”

You get up on your elbows, tilt your head and give him an appropriately confused look. “What do you mean?”  When Yashiro shakes his head, you want to tell him, say something accusing, like, _Get your mind out of the gutter,_ or _How can you look at a kid with those lewd eyes?_ You want to rile him up, force him into a corner, make him show his true colours. And even then, even then—

“I want you,” you blurt out.

His gaze snaps back to you, and you colour to the roots of your hair.

You try to correct yourself, “I want you to be nicer to me, Yashiro sensei. Don’t—don’t make me carry those water pails any more.”

Yashiro breaks out into a laugh. And although it sounds a little forced, you go along with it. You want to believe in him, in his sincerity, in his innocence. _Do not let me know it’s you, or I surely will—_

The bell rings and he stands. When you make no move to sort yourself out, he hovers over you and pulls your shirt down, knuckles brush and linger on your stomach as he does so. When he takes your hand, your heart brims over with joy.

_(It’s probably him.)_

 

*

 

He drives you home.

You listen to his advice.

He shoves three lollipops into his mouth like he has something to prove.

Your suspicion grows.

_It’s him._

 

*

 

Insightful as ever, your mother tells you to be careful. She doesn’t say of what, but you have a feeling you know. _Either way, you should focus on positive results. Nothing ventured, nothing gained._

At school, Hiromi latches onto you and you let him. Although you pretend to be oblivious, you didn’t survive all the dangers that came each revival without knowing how to sense dangerous eyes on the back of your head. As you return Hiromi’s hug, you look past his shoulder and meets Yashiro’s eyes across the deserted hallway. He holds your gaze, his hands clenching and unclenching. You look away when you stumble into the wall under Hiromi’s weight. Hiromi murmurs _Satoru_ and kisses you all closed-mouth and awkward.

Yashiro calls both of you to the teacher’s office after school. Hiromi is shaking from embarrassment, and you try to look equally abashed.

“This is not something two boys should be doing,” he says, “What makes you think this is appropriate?” and the underlying message here is: _You are barely more than a decade old._

“It’s because we are ten that I think it’s fine,” you say.

Yashiro shoots you a sharp look.

“Hiromi, you are dismissed for now. I need to speak to Satoru alone.”

Hiromi panics. “But—but it isn’t Satoru’s fault. I—”

“It’s fine,” you tell him.

His shoulders sag and he looks at you with teary eyes. “I’m sorry Satoru.”

“It’s fine,” you repeat, and then, lean in to whisper, “I’m not angry. You can have dinner at my house, if you want.”

Hiromi jolts and sputters an “ _o-okay_ …” He turns bright red and runs off.

“Now what is this about, Satoru?” Yashiro crosses his arms over his chest and leans forward in his chair. “You think being ten makes you grown up enough to be doing those things?”

You shake your head.

“It’s the opposite, sensei. We are too young for it to mean anything,” you tell him.

Yashiro raises his eyebrows. He looks genuinely surprised. You know you sound like an adult, but that is because you are.

You continue, “I don’t think Hiromi fully understands what he is doing, that’s why I think it’s fine. It’s not like I’m encouraging him. I’m just making sure all my friends are close enough, so I can protect them.”

“Protect them from what?”

You bite your lip and stare at your feet. You lean forward until your mouth is right next to his ear. _Sensei…can I_ , you murmur, _can I touch you?_

He jerks back. “What?”

“See? I know you understand it, sensei.” You move away from him. “The caution of having to hold back because of society’s disapproval. You like me too, right? You must understand how Hiromi feels.”

Yashiro sputters. “Satoru, that’s not—”

“I like you too,” you blurt out. “I admire you a lot.”

 _(From whom am I protecting them?_ _  
_ _I’m protecting them from you.)_

 

*

 

Like with Kayo, Hiromi’s safety is more important than other people’s opinions of you, even if one of those ‘other people’ is Yashiro. It’s easier to work with the tide instead of against it, and if accepting Hiromi’s crush means you can keep him close enough to protect, what does it matter? You will not lose your focus or get your priorities mixed up. Yashiro’s love comes second to stopping the killer.

And you can only hope it’s true when you get into Yashiro’s car to chase after Shiratori’s truck. In your gut, you feel that there is something very _very_ wrong. It finally comes to you when you see the empty glove compartment, the laxative that falls out of it, the _tap-tap-tap_ of Yashiro’s gloved finger on the steering wheel and the chilling grin on his face. Your heart races and then sinks. You are not as surprised as you think you should be.

“I resisted the idea. I didn’t want to believe that anyone was anticipating my move, let alone, you.”

The seatbelt will not come undone, and Yashiro tells you so. In the haze of flight or fight response, you decide on neither. Instead you let out a sigh, lean back into your seat, and you know your resignation must have startled Yashiro, leaves him wrong-footed, because his grin slips into confusion.

“Did you think I wouldn’t know?” you ask him. “Grown ups always let their guards down around children because they think we don’t notice. But you are really remarkable, Yashiro sensei. I almost couldn’t tell.”

You can see his body tremble, can see the look of uncontrollable frustration in his eyes. His leather grip tightens around the steering wheel.

“I was going to let you go, Satoru, because you are truly special to me.” He grits his teeth. “Why must you get in my way?”

You force a quiet smile. “I only did it to get you to notice me. I won’t stop you any more now that I seem to have your attention.”

“My attention?”

“Yes,” you breathe. “And I’m not going anywhere.” You try to touch him and your arm is a little short, so it falls into his lap instead. His thigh muscles tense when you slide your fingers up to his crotch to make your intentions clear. “Please park the car, Yashiro sensei. Help me out of this seatbelt.”

Yashiro parks the car beside the riverbank. The snow is falling all around them, turning the scenery an innocent white. The future is a sheet of blank paper, and only your will can leave footprints on it.

When Yashiro leans over, an expression of complete manic on his usually handsome features, you reach out to him, arms shaking from fear and anticipation, cradle his face in your hands and smashes your lips against his. He kisses you back, open-mouthed and feverish, and you cannot help but moan, your voice high and so pathetically young. He runs his gloved hands over you and when you whimper against his mouth, he finally breaks.

His will, his resolve, his plan.

He helps you out then throws you into the backseat and follows. You kick the basketball bag onto the floor in the haste to make room for him. He pulls you onto his lap, his fingers skim down your front, dancing along the lines of your leg. _Touch me without those gloves,_ you pant.

It is sick, twisted in every way, but your voice catches in your throat and comes out as a shallow exhale.

“Did you know,” he says, reaching up higher by a fraction — you flinch, and the barest beginning of a whimper escape your mouth, “that I have always been watching you?”

You bury a half-suppressed moan in his shoulder, shuddering.

“You are just like me, aren’t you? Always seeking out things to fill that hole in your heart.” He takes off his gloves and brush his fingers against your inner thigh. ”Satoru." His voice, right into your ear again, clearly enunciated, softly spoken, and it nearly drives you into insanity.

“ _Sensei._ ” You grab Yashiro’s chin and press your lips against his, desperate, body on fire and mind in a mess.

“What a fragile little thing,” he says. “I can snap your neck in half any time I want, yet you are not scared in the least. There is no boy as special as you.”

You whimper into his ear as he begins to peel off your clothes. Your jacket is flung over the steering wheel, and your shirt is thrown to the back of the car. You shiver against him, and he wraps his arms around you. You lift yourself up as he pulls off your trousers and underwear, dropping them to the floor. _Hold me tighter, make me feel warm,_ you murmur.

He kisses you hard enough that he almost bites down on your lips, and it makes everything tilt and slide sideways like vertigo, like your entire world is tipping. You find his hips and begin to unbuckle his belt. He grinds into your hands and pulls back to gasp, then his mouth is back, still wet and open on your lips. You make some incredibly stupid noise and kiss him again and again, sloppy with need.

He pulls away to give you a stern look that you know so well. You smile and wrap your arms about his neck, drinking him through the kiss, feeling the sheer bliss of his warmth pervading you and you are dimly aware of his hardness under you. You part your thighs, murmuring gently as he pushes your hips down and grinds roughly against you. You wince as the texture of his trousers graze against your baby skin. You sit back on your heels and unzips his trousers. He hisses as his erection springs free, brushing his rigidity against yours as if that is its one true purpose. You hold it, hot in your hand, and pumps.

 _Sensei, tell me you love me,_ you demand throatily, knowing he’ll comply. He does, voice catching on the words as he drags his lips and the short syllables across your smiling mouth.

 _No,_ you tell him, wrapping your legs around his, pushing your pelvis onto his erection, _Tell me when you’re inside me._

His erection jerks at your words, pre-come splattering against your balls and you whimper, rocking gently to bring him back into contact with you as he says slowly, _I am going to break you, Satoru._

 _Please make it so that it doesn’t hurt,_ you whine. Unceremoniously, he sticks his finger into your entrance, and it _burns_. When you scream, his penis twitches. Before you can adjust, he pushes in a second finger. Your voice cracks this time, and he groans loudly at your scream. He adds one more finger and then another until you are so full and hard and writhing.

You are a sobbing, shrieking mess of _Yashiro sensei, sensei—ah, ow!_ He grabs your chin with his free hand and peers hungrily into your tear-stained face. When he smashes his lips against yours, shoves his tongue into your mouth in the same rhythm as his fingers, you scream and thrash; he pulls out and slams his fingers into your ass right to his knuckles.

“Sensei, please. _It hurts_!”

"What’s life without a little pain?”

And then his fingers are gone.

He lifts you up and slides his throbbing penis under you, lining the overflowing tip to your wet entrance, wide palm spread across your rear, nails grazing the crease between your cheeks. You cry out and claw at his shirt when he breaks into you. He groans loudly and you whimper at the agony as he stretches you beyond your limit.

"You’re mine, Satoru. _Mine._ ” he says, eyes flickering shut as your already too tight passage clenches around him.

You gasp. _I’m yours. No one,_ you tell him, _no one but yours._ His breath catches and, sliding his other arm about your back, curving you to him, he muffles your cry with his kiss, his body slipping deeper into yours. Your body throbs with a heady mixture of pain and promise, your toes flex back and forth over his waist, your legs squeezing him, wanting him to move even as your body spasms around him. Now, you manage between laboured breaths, _Tell me now, sensei_. You feel a quiver run through his form, nerves, apprehension, pleasure.

He looks down into your face, expression that of deadly seriousness. _I love you,_ he says it, and you tremble. _I love you. You’re the only one who’s ever made me feel this way._ Your entire body is wracked with shudders and there’s this disturbing wetness seeping from your eyes. _I love you too, sensei,_ you gasp and drag his head down to muffle your ecstatic sobs with his lips. You separate for air a few moments later and the smile in his eyes makes you blush.

Your heart breaks to be loved by him and to want him as much as you do.

Closing your eyes to kiss him deeply, smoothing your tongue across his palate, it occurs to you that nearly every inch of him is pressed against you. You shudder, opening your eyes, wanting to see exactly how his body looks against and inside yours. He catches sight of your attempt and chuckles, _Don’t worry, Satoru. You look perfect connected to me._

Your penis twitches; you rub it against his stomach, moaning, and he begins to pull out. You look downwards to where your body aches, past your own undeveloped straining dripping hardness just in time to watch him slam that thick hot shaft back inside you. You choke on your own pleasure, gasping as his width rubs the quivering nerve-ends within you and he places his hands on your hips, lifting you and then releasing, groaning as gravity pulls you back down until he’s fully seated in you once again.

Your hands curl over and around his shoulders, wanting to hold him closer but needing to push at them with every wave of pleasure that strikes you. Weak with emotion now, doing barely more than rocking wildly and sobbing atop him as he thrusts into you, you rest your forehead against his, whimpering as the rough pads of his fingers reach up to tangle in your hair. Eyes locked, you kiss and you can feel yourself teetering on the edge of consciousness, a slow burning filling the hollow of your belly. _Good boy,_ he whispers against your mouth, _I truly do respect you._

And just like that, you come.

You thrash, head thrown back and shoulders knotting as you arch your spine beyond its limits, skin burning bright under the cold winter dusk. You vaguely worry that you might both die from this as you collapse on top of him, crying hoarsely as your body clenches around him and he jerks, nearly lost in the throes, in the pleasure you gave him. You feel you could almost come again as the thought passes through you that even though Yashiro may have done this with others, he never loved them and he never looked into their eyes; they never knew the true him, and as you lay there, snatching quick kisses between gasps for breath and triumphant smiles, you know that he is as lost as you are when he finds love reflected in your eyes, and you see yourself in his.

_I will beat you unfairly first, so stay with me a little longer._

 

*

 

_Filling up that emptiness in your heart is a commonality, finding what you are looking for and obtaining it…_

_The more difficulties there are, the greater happiness when you overcome them…_

You blink open your eyes to the year 2004, to the feeling of kisses peppering down your stomach, right to the base of your half-hardness. You are propped on goose-feathers pillows and white linen sheets. When you thread your hand through a head of hair, the face that emerges from between your thighs is Hiromi’s, all long-limbed, grown up and handsome. Somehow, you are not surprised. A gentle wave of awe washes over you, filling the gaping hole inside your heart. He slides up to you, all smiles and loving licks just like a puppy, murmuring, _Good morning, Chairman of the City Council._

You chuckle and pull Hiromi down into a kiss, _Idiot, that’s not my name_.

He giggles into your ear and tells you softly that he loves you.

 

*

 

Locked inside a mahogany dresser are letters addressed to a deadman named Nishizono, a rusting handgun and an old pair of bloodstained leather gloves.

(You really did love him.)

  
  


 


	2. Chapter 2

This is Pseudonymous.

I've compiled all my ERASED fanfictions into one book. And it's **free**  to download! At least for now. So you probably better hurry. Haha. I've set up the download page, so feel free to tap into this link: **[God Doesn't Want Us](https://app.convertkit.com/landing_pages/88621)**  to get your free copy. It's an ePUB file which will make it easy for you to read mobile. And you can also read it on your computer. If it doesn't work, feel free to email me or leave a comment, and I'll send you the PDF version!

The anthology consists of 'Sunlit Heights, From Life’s Dissonance', 'God Doesn't Want Us' and 'There Isn't a Single Soul in Paradise'.

**Sunlit Heights, From Life's Dissonance**

> Satoru x Kenya; PG-13; 3,900 words  
>  When they pull Satoru out of the water, Kenya watches from the slope. Kenya decides early that he doesn’t need to believe in Satoru’s time-travel bullshit to want a future with him.

**God Doesn’t Want Us**  

> Satoru x Yashiro, Hiromi; NC-17; 4,200 words  
>  In 1988, Satoru escapes his fated coma by playing a little differently. “It’s exactly because I love you that I must destroy you.” He tries to make something out of his relationship with Yashiro—although, hold that thought.

**There Isn't a Single Soul in Paradise**

> Satoru x Kenya; PG; 1,500 words  
>  The reasons Satoru decides to stay. During his coma, Satoru haunts.

 

**[Download the book here.](https://app.convertkit.com/landing_pages/88621) **


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